Do Not Go Gentle
by AriaAdagio
Summary: LaCroix brutalizes Nick in a fit of anger and is disturbed to find that he regrets it. What is to become of his and Nick's already broken relationship?


DO NOT GO GENTLE  
  
Standard disclaimers apply. Nick, LaCroix, Janette, and   
Natalie aren't mine, I've just taken them for a brief spin.   
Any similarities to real life happenings or other fanfiction   
stories are entirely coincidental/unintentional. Permission   
is granted to archive at fkfanfic.com and the ftp site, all   
others please ask so I can keep track of it. For those of   
you who are interested, my other stories are all available   
at http://filebox.vt.edu/users/diharris/Homepage.htm  
  
This fanfiction is a first for me, I'd have to say.   
Although it has some NNPacker undertones, this story is   
mainly about Nick and LaCroix, with a hefty dose of Janette.  
I'm no expert on LaCroix factions, so I really don't know   
what category this would really fit into, however. My best   
guess would be the CoTK and the Cousins. Anyway, for those   
of you who know my standard LaCroix representation, I can   
assure you that this is most certainly not anywhere close to   
it :) This story follows series canon until somewhere after   
Human Factor, where it splits off rather drastically (I'm   
one of those people still stuck in denial about LK).   
  
Do Not Go Gentle contains a bit of disturbing subject matter   
that I think is adult content. Be warned.  
  
For those of you interested in the translations of the Latin  
Headers that are used in this story:   
IN MEDIAS RES = in the middle of things  
INITIUM = beginning  
REVENIRE AD NUNC = back to the present  
FINIS INITII = the end of the beginning  
Thanks to my friend Nick, who kindly did these translations   
even though he was super busy!   
  
Thanks a billion to my beta reader, Lois Frankel! This   
story took me thereabouts of six months to write (the   
longest I've ever spent actually writing a story before this   
is about three weeks...) and without my beta reader, it   
probably would've taken an additional couple of months :)   
All comments, questions, feedback and whatnot may be sent to   
aria5@vt.edu.  
  
Ok, deep breath, I'm done. You can read now :)   
  
DO NOT GO GENTLE  
  
IN MEDIAS RES  
  
He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it, the harsh   
light bringing stabs of pain and causing him to immediately  
close them again. He was wet, and cold. So cold...   
/Nicholas, now do you understand... I'm your master and you   
will never escape me./ He cried out, but no sound came.   
His voice was gone. He couldn't move. He couldn't think.   
  
He was wet. And cold. Splayed on the floor like a rag doll   
left out by a careless three-year-old. Reaching with his   
good hand, he attempted to pull himself across the cold   
wooden floor, but he couldn't get a grip nor did he have the   
strength. Wet. He opened his eyes again. Pain shot   
through his pupils as they tried to adjust to the light, but   
he had no tears to cry. He was bled out. Weak. He   
couldn't move.   
  
/You're mine! Never disobey!/ He realized then why he was  
wet. He was lying in a pool of his own blood. His life and   
soul were spilling outwards from his ravaged body into the   
cracks in the floor, coagulating ever so slowly. Why hadn't   
his body absorbed it back into his system? It didn't make   
sense. Shivering, he curled up into a ball. So cold...   
His teeth chattered. Inhaling sharply, a terrible pain was   
brought to his chest and he felt as if his entire body was   
about to fall apart.   
  
/You little whelp! I'll teach you once and for all.../ He   
sobbed mutely, his entire torso lifting up off the floor   
like a marionette operated by a deranged puppeteer. It   
hurt! Everything hurt... His neck and rear in particular.  
  
/No... Please no.../ Failing when he tried to sit up, he  
lay still, shivering as the cold seeped further into his   
bones. It hurt! Calming his breathing, he tried to lie   
there silently. He was hurt. Very badly... Why wasn't he   
hungry? He was cold...   
  
He was cold. He was naked... His pale skin reddened from   
the coating of his own blood. Cold. There was a gash in   
his side. His left hand was crushed and numb. He reached   
out with his right hand. /Are you trying to get away? You  
think you can get away?/ He couldn't get away. If he   
could only get to his refrigerator... Maybe he would   
heal... His broken ribs shuddered underneath his skin as   
he took in a quick, panicked breath.  
  
/LaCroix... please... don't/ But he did anyway. He   
sobbed again, his body coming up off the floor as it had   
before and then slapping back onto the cold wet floor with  
a painful jolt. Why couldn't he move anywhere? God, it   
hurt. There was a noise. The door to the lift, maybe   
twenty feet in front of him, opened slowly.   
  
He struggled. Had to... had to get away. Hide...   
"Aughnn..." The words would not come as he flopped around   
on the floor like a landed fish, trying to get up. To get   
away. It hurt. He cried, but again, no tears came.   
LaCroix... Please go away...  
  
"Nick! OHMYGOD, NICK!" Nat. When did she get here? Help  
me Nat... I can't get up... He hurt. It was cold.  
  
She was sobbing, and he felt her hand on his shoulder. No,   
he felt LaCroix... He had to get away... He struggled   
despite the awful pain. His chest rattled as he gasped,   
pulling away from LaCroix with all his might... He tried   
to scream when LaCroix grabbed him and held him steady, but  
all that came out was a hoarse sounding squeak...   
  
"Nick, it's me! Nat! Can you hear me? It's Nat!" He   
heard Nat's frantic voice. When did she get here? Help me,  
Nat, I can't get up...  
  
/Beg me, Nicholas. Beg me to stop.../ He struggled to get  
away, his voice finally succeeding in getting out a pained,   
plaintive whisper, "LaCroix, please stop..." LaCroix was   
touching him. He flailed blindly. His eyes hurt. His neck  
hurt. He hurt.   
  
"Nick, calm down. Shhhh. It's over, Nick. LaCroix isn't   
here. Let me help you..." He heard Nat's voice above his   
confusion. When did she get here? Help me, Nat, I can't   
get up. She was sobbing. Why?  
  
Don't cry, Nat. I'll be ok, just give me a second... He   
tried to get up to show her that he was indeed ok, but he   
couldn't. The pain movement brought was like his skin was   
set on fire. He jerked in shock.   
  
"Nick, don't try to move! You've... you've got a lot of   
broken bones..." I do? He did. His torso and left hand   
had almost the consistency of fine goo, the bones where   
completely shattered. She was sobbing. Don't cry, Nat...  
  
Then she was gone. Gone. He was alone. And cold. Where  
did she go? Nat! Nat! Where did you go? You left me...   
Just like everybody else does...   
  
"Nick, shhhh. I'm just getting some blood packs. Shhhh..."  
Don't cry, Nat... Why is she getting blood packs? I don't   
need any blood, I'm not hungry...   
  
She was back. Her hand was brushing his cheek. He looked  
at her through pained eyes. He couldn't speak. It hurt.  
  
He felt a prick in his arm and he tried to jerk away. But   
then he felt warm where the prick was. And then the rest   
of him was warm... But now it hurt more... It was too   
warm. It burned.   
  
"....." He screamed a scream that made no noise, jerking   
haphazardly about the floor despite the steadying hands on   
him. She was sobbing. Don't cry, Nat. Please don't   
cry... Why did he always have to make her cry? It was his   
fault. It was always his fault. He was a monster, just   
like LaCroix said. He hurt.  
  
"Nick..." She was pushing on his side. It hurt. Why was   
she pushing on his side? Pushing... /Ah, Nicholas... do   
you feel that? That's me. I can possess you totally.../  
  
"No... no no no no..." he cried like a lost lamb, bleating   
for it's mother. Nat stopped pushing. But she was still   
crying. Don't cry, Nat. I'll do what you want me to, if   
you stop crying... I can't bear to see you cry...  
  
"Nick, you've got to roll on your side so I can ... clean   
you off..." Ok. I can do that... Strangely, he could move   
now, but it still hurt.   
  
/You are a monster Nicholas./ I know. /Embrace it./ No!  
He felt a grating sensation and he cried. Sobbed. She was  
wiping him with a towel. It hurt! Why was she hurting him?   
Nat, why are you hurting me? This hurts! He cried. He had   
tears now. Odd.   
  
"Shhhh, Nick I'm almost done. I know it hurts..." He tried   
vainly to wait patiently while Nat finished, the tears   
streaming down his face and making a mess of the floor. All   
of the sudden it stopped. He was cold again. He shook. He   
closed his eyes. Tired. Suddenly tired.   
  
"Nick, stay awake! You're going into shock..." Oh. He   
kept his eyes open. Maybe then she wouldn't cry. Please,   
Nat don't cry.   
  
She was hurting him again. Why was she hurting him? He   
felt his left hand in hers. She was doing something with   
it and now he couldn't move it. There was cardboard on it.   
Nat, I can't move my hand now... Why was she hurting him   
like this? Nat, why? LaCroix had hurt him... but never   
Nat...  
  
He felt her bandaging him on his neck and on other places.   
His neck hurt a lot. She was touching him again, pressing   
his ribcage this way and that. That hurts! Nat, why are   
you hurting me? He cried. She stopped. There was a   
terrible noise. Now there was chair in front of him. Nat   
was gently prodding him to stand up.   
  
He couldn't stand. It hurt. God, he couldn't stand up...   
But Nat wanted him to, so he stood. He wanted to scream.   
/I can possess you totally/. No... NONONONONO! Get away!  
Dizziness crushed his skull and suddenly nausea flooded   
through his system. He vomited. His throat burned and he  
wanted to die. "Here Nick, lean on this chair for a   
second..." Ok. He cried uncontrollably as he watched her   
mop up the blood from his wounds and from his recent bout of   
nausea.   
  
His good arm was going numb. He couldn't support himself   
much longer... God, why couldn't he just lie back down on   
the floor? The floor was... it was horizontal. But Nat   
wanted him to stand. His legs felt like rubber. He wanted   
to fall. Nat wanted him to stand. He stood. He felt blood   
dripping down his legs. Nat cleaned it off with a towel.   
Please Nat, can I please lie back down now?   
  
A warm, fuzzy blanket was wrapped around him. He sobbed and  
shook and shook. Shook. Why did he hurt so much? /Do you   
feel that, Nicholas? I OWN you!/ No... I don't belong to   
anyone, least of all you... Why don't you stop? Stop! Oh,   
please stop!  
  
Natalie's arms wrapped around his shoulders. They were   
light, as if they were trying not to hurt him. LaCroix   
tried to hurt him... "Nick, let's get you over to the sofa,  
ok?" Ok. Why did he have to do that though? The floor was  
ok... He could just lie on the floor... Nat wanted him to   
walk. He would walk. It would hurt.   
  
The first step brought shoots of pain up his legs. It hurt!   
"Come on, Nick! Only a few more..." Ok. Now he was   
sitting on the sofa. Had he gotten there that fast? He   
hurt. She was still wrapped around him, rocking him back   
and forth. He cried.   
  
"Shhhhh, Nick. It's ok, Nick. You'll be all right...   
you'll heal..." No I won't. "Drink this." A bottle   
appeared in front of him. He drank. He retched. It tasted  
awful.   
  
"Nat..." he managed. It was soft. He couldn't get much to   
come out of his vocal chords. Oh, God. He vomited again,   
shaking violently. Trembling. Shaking. Sobbing.   
  
"Shhh, Nick. It's all right. It's ok..." No, it's not ok.   
He wouldn't stop... Why wouldn't he stop?   
  
"Nat... Make him stop!" he sobbed, burying himself in the  
blanket. /I own you./ God, he hurt so much. He cried   
more. When would it stop hurting? It would never stop   
hurting...   
  
"Shhhhh, Nick..."  
  
Help me, Nat. He reached for her. She was there. Help me,   
Nat.   
  
"Shhhhh, Nick..."  
  
He fell asleep to the lulling sound of her voice. Thank   
you, Nat.   
  
*****   
  
DO NOT GO GENTLE  
  
Lucien LaCroix flew blindly through the freezing night air   
in a cold fury. Despite the numbing frigidness nipping at   
his skin, he could not help but think of his rebellious son.   
Damn that recalcitrant boy! Every time he turned around,   
Nicholas was doing _something_ towards his damn quest for   
mortality. Something for his damn emotional heart! Didn't   
he realize he was only going to get hurt?  
  
Every single time. Every single time, he had to go racing   
in to save his errant son when he did something foolish and   
it was getting to be a rather annoying chore. Damn it! And   
damn him!   
  
LaCroix snarled as he picked up speed. But at the back of   
his mind something was there that wasn't supposed to be, a   
constant murmur underneath his bubbling anger. Regret?   
Maybe... but it didn't quite seem to fit. In an effort to   
knock some sense into Nicholas, he'd gotten a little bit   
carried away. And he knew it. Regret it? Yes... But   
there was something else.  
  
His mind shifted back to his son and it pained him to   
realize that Nicholas was lying cold, alone, and helpless in   
his loft, but he couldn't have stayed. He'd known that if   
he'd stayed he would've only gotten madder. His temper was   
simply not a thing to trifle with. Besides, even if they   
were _just friends_, he was sure that Nicholas's doctor   
friend would stop by soon enough and save the day.   
  
But... why did it have to be like this? Because Nicholas   
was a damn fool, that's why. Because Nicholas cared. About   
_her_. And not about him. LaCroix grimaced. He wouldn't   
be surprised if Nicholas wanted him dead. He'd already   
tried to kill him, once within the past couple years.   
  
There was no way that he would be able to cash in on his   
debt over Fleur either. If he were to take the good Dr.   
Lambert's life, which he desperately wanted to do, strong-  
willed and vivacious though she was, it would be enough to   
sever his ties to Nicholas forever. As of now, he was   
barely hanging on by a frayed thread anyway.   
  
In a flash of thoughtful insight, he realized, suddenly,   
that he envied Nicholas in a way. His passion, his dreams,   
it was all so damned admirable. And it made him feel that   
much worse. He'd overreacted. That, he knew. Even if he'd   
refrained from killing the Doctor, he hadn't refrained from   
killing his son. If not in body, in soul. Nicholas would   
never, _ever_, forgive him now. He'd gone too far...  
  
As he set down in a dark, side alley, a small unbid tear   
fell down his cheek. He wiped it away hastily, denying its   
brief existence with a ferocious, throaty growl. No!   
Lucien LaCroix did NOT cry. He was a ruthless, Roman   
general. Not a crybaby!   
  
His thoughts of Nicholas, however, refused to stop as his   
tears had. He tried so hard to renew the family ties that   
had bound them together so well before, but every time he   
turned around Nicholas went off and did something that   
was... unforgivable! He couldn't just let these infractions   
slide... But at what cost? Nicholas had bounced back after   
every disciplinary session with seeming ease, but nobody   
lasted forever. Like a bad case of metal fatigue, he knew   
his son would eventually snap.   
  
He sighed loudly as he thought to himself. If Nicholas   
would just accept what he was! But he didn't. That was the   
crux of it right there. LaCroix groaned as he opened his   
link to Nicholas for a brief second, only to be greeted by a   
fanfare of confusion and pain. Placing his hands to his   
temples in response to the bombardment, he immediately   
closed the link.   
  
Why had he done that to Nicholas? Why? What had possessed   
him to ruin the progress they'd been making? Things had   
been going so well lately... Ever since Nicholas had been   
shot and his memories restored, LaCroix had felt closer to   
his son in a way he hadn't felt since... well... never.   
  
Even when Nicholas had been a fledgling, LaCroix had known   
Nicholas thought of their relationship as master and slave,   
not as father and son, intimate in more ways than any mortal   
could possibly imagine. Lately he'd been getting the   
feeling that Nicholas had situated their relationship   
somewhere between the two extremes. Although not his   
ultimate goal, he had been happy that Nicholas had even   
yielded that much.   
  
LaCroix broke from his musings and approached the door of   
the Raven with a menacing glare. The bouncer stepped aside   
immediately to let him pass, not even fazed by the cries of   
protest from the long line of mortal patrons waiting to get   
in. Apparently, they did not realize that he was the owner   
of the establishment.   
  
As the pounding bass blasted him in the face, he noticed   
that all the vampire patrons of the establishment were   
staring strangely at him. He looked around, the dazzling   
lights and noises only momentarily confusing his sensitive   
eyes. They all wisely averted their eyes when he returned   
their stares with a menacing one of his own, but it was odd.   
Something was not quite right... Not at all.  
  
The pale-faced, brown-haired bartender waved him over with a   
polite gesture of his hands. Marcel was his name, or at   
least one of the many that he'd gone by over the course of   
eternity. He was at least as old as Vachon was, if not   
older. Those that old did not worry easily, which made it   
all the more strange when LaCroix was able to detect worry   
in Marcel's penetrating gaze.   
  
LaCroix immediately responded, approaching the bar with a   
certain wariness. "What is it?" he snapped as he placed his   
hands on the cool black surface of the bar.   
  
"She's... She's in the back room. I told her she could   
stay as long as she liked..." Marcel said hesitantly, barely   
loud enough to be heard over the music.   
  
LaCroix looked at his vampire bartender with confusion.   
Who? The bartender merely backed away as if to avoid what   
he thought was going to be a backlash, and LaCroix could   
barely contain his burning curiosity. What was going on?  
  
He strode across the floor of the Raven, barely preventing   
himself from mowing his patrons flat into the dance floor.   
Although he hesitated at the entrance, gripping the doorknob   
tightly with a foreboding sense of worry, he went into the   
apartments in the back with a sudden determination. The   
darkness in the room was so thick it was almost tangible,   
but his acute eyes could see well enough to identify the   
figure huddled in the corner and his unbeating heart nearly   
exploded out of his chest when he saw the room's occupant.   
One he hadn't seen since the night she'd given him the deed   
to the Raven.  
  
Janette looked up from where she sat huddled on the floor.   
Bloody tears streamed down her face as she shook   
uncontrollably. "LaCroix... What have you done?" she asked   
quietly, in obvious pain. Her arms clasped tighter around   
her thin, sinuous form as she bit back on a wave of agony   
with a pathetic whimper.   
  
LaCroix raced to her side with fear developing at the pit of   
his stomach. She didn't appear to have any injuries, but he   
still felt compelled to offer her his wrist. Her reaction   
was quite surprising. She turned her face away with a look   
of disgust, her lips curled up in a pained grimace. "Ma   
Cherie, what's the matter?" he asked, concerned about the   
fact that she would refuse his fast-healing, ancient blood   
if she was in such pain.  
  
"What have you done to him?" she asked plaintively, her   
teeth chattering relentlessly. Janette bit off a scream as   
she clutched her abdomen and buried her face in his   
shoulder. Comprehension began to flood his mind. Nicholas.   
She was feeling Nicholas. Her new 'master'. She'd been   
brought back to Toronto by his pain, and she couldn't shut   
it out. It was not something he'd taught either of his two   
children, at the time in an effort to maintain more control   
over them.   
  
Nicholas was incapable of blocking his pain from Janette,   
and Janette was incapable of stopping her reception of it.   
A very bad combination, and something he couldn't teach her  
overnight. He realized painfully that there was no way he   
could help her.  
  
He held her shaking form in his failing grasp. Janette.   
His sweet, seductive Janette. Reduced to this. Because of   
him...  
  
"Janette, I'm so very sorry... I... I couldn't stop   
myself... I was angry..." he whispered softly, his voice   
rich with raw pain. He'd gone too far... He'd let his   
anger cloud his judgment. And he regretted it.   
  
He winced as she cried out desperately, writhing in his arms   
like a frightened child. "How could you? He was starting   
to return! I felt him returning. He... he loved you..."   
she whispered, her face tight with lines of pain.   
  
The words hit him like a slap in the face. Nicholas had   
loved him? No. Nicholas would never... NO! He shook his   
head. It couldn't be true.   
  
"I... I'm sorry..." LaCroix said softly, his voice   
faltering as tears came to his eyes and threatened to fall.   
He was no longer some invincible general... And it tore him   
apart that he was unable to offer any other words of apology   
to Janette as she fainted from the dizzying agony emanating   
from his son.   
  
What had he done? He wept openly for the first time in   
centuries, Janette limp and unconscious in his arms. All,   
was lost.   
  
*****   
  
INITIUM  
  
Nick groaned as he stepped into the lift that went up to his   
loft. It had been a long, terrible night, and he was   
exhausted. A man had gone berserk and killed three people   
in a shopping mall before taking his own life. Nick and   
Tracy had had to question all the witnesses. Crying,   
hysterical witnesses in shock.   
  
Nick shook his head with a look of distaste. It disgusted   
him that mortals could spurn the gift of life with acts   
violence such as this, but, there was nothing he could   
really do about it. Leaning back against the wall, he   
thought of nothing but sinking into bed and falling into the   
oblivion of sleep. That, and feeding.   
  
His abdominal region burned with raw hunger, and he growled   
bestially as he stepped out of the lift. He was tired,   
true, but his carnal need would not be silenced until he   
sated it with blood. He couldn't ignore it, although he'd   
tried so desperately hard to. His face marred with self-  
disgust, he raced to the refrigerator like an abused dog   
desperate for a single scrap of food.   
  
Grabbing a familiar green bottle from the fridge, he placed   
it to his lips and tipped it upward. The cow blood slid   
down his throat only too slowly, and he grimaced at the   
terrible bitter taste. It was awful. Absolutely awful.   
And for what seemed like the thousandth time that week, he   
wondered why he put himself through this? He growled in   
frustration and slammed the green bottle onto the kitchen   
counter, looking back longingly in the direction of his   
fridge. There were human blood packs in the freezer. He   
could have just one...   
  
No! He would not give in to his desires, no matter what the  
cost to his health. He raised the bottle back to his lips   
and took another sip of the dreaded stuff, choking slightly   
on the taste. At least it didn't make him so nauseated that   
he had to throw it back up, like with Nat's protein drinks.   
Just thinking about it made him shudder.   
  
In the private atmosphere of the loft, he let a small tear   
descend his cheek. Why did it have to be so damn hard? He   
wanted to be mortal so badly... and yet... he continuously   
found himself embracing the vampire. Contradiction, it   
seemed, was a part of his daily life, but what was _wrong_   
with him? He squeezed his eyes shut as he dealt with the   
sickening aftertaste of the cow blood, strangely pleased   
that he was getting no enjoyment out of quenching his   
terrible thirst. And yet, for some reason he found himself   
contemplating taking another sip.   
  
Standing there quietly, trying to force himself to put the   
bottle back before taking another sip, he felt an odd   
buzzing in the back of his head, a whisper of something that   
could only be one thing. LaCroix. "What do _you_ want,   
LaCroix?" he said with displeasure as he turned to face his   
master, the green bottle still clasped tightly in his hand.   
  
"Oh, come now, Nicholas. Why must you greet me with such   
hostility?" LaCroix said smoothly, an eyebrow raised. He   
appeared out of thin air as he said it, adorned in a suave   
black sport coat, black silk shirt, black pleated pants,   
and a pair of black leather shoes. Really colorful...   
  
"Because when ever _you_ take the time to visit _me_ it's   
usually to criticize me or to punish me," Nick said,   
matter-of-factly, but he regretted it as soon as the words   
fell from his lips. Ugh! Why did he have to lash back at   
his master, when he knew all it would bring him was pain?   
It seemed his rebellious nature too often got ahead of his   
more logical side. He felt fear growing in the pit of his   
stomach. He was too tired to deal with this right now...  
  
LaCroix merely gave him a perplexed look and took the green   
bottle out of Nick's hand, taking a quick sip. Only   
LaCroix's stoic ability to hide his disgust prevented him   
from spitting it back out. "Nicholas, Nicholas... _must_   
you drink this infernal swill? You really should be   
drinking human..." he commented distastefully, not really   
a command, but definitely more than a mere suggestion.   
  
Nick shook his head. He wasn't going to allow himself to   
be sucked into that argument now. He wanted to go to bed.   
What's worse was that he knew that LaCroix knew he wanted to  
go to bed. This was likely to be a long encounter... "What  
do you want, LaCroix?"  
  
LaCroix whipped out a newspaper from under his coat pocket,   
almost faster than Nick's eyes could keep track of. "I   
merely meant to ask you what the meaning of _this_ was,"   
LaCroix said, his voice dripping with contempt.   
  
Nick swallowed. Hard. On the front page of the paper were  
the words 'Hero Cop Catches Killer'. That was ok, pretty   
normal for him, in fact. He got headlines a lot. But what   
LaCroix was referring to, was the picture. Of him and Nat.   
Kissing. Right on the front page of the daily paper.   
  
He snatched the paper from LaCroix's hand and read the   
caption quickly to himself. 'Apparently, Detective Nick   
Knight gets a little more help from the Coroner's Building   
than most of Toronto's finest do, but it seems to do him   
well...'. Nick shook his head, remembering the night before   
with a sense of dread. He hadn't known there were   
photographers there when he had done that, although he   
should have. "LaCroix, that's not what it looks like..."   
  
Under LaCroix's hateful gaze, Nick began to tremble, and at   
the same time he was angry that LaCroix could still   
intimidate him even after eight hundred years. "Nicholas,   
do you mean to tell you that _this_ was entirely platonic?"   
he questioned with a raised eyebrow, the disbelief in his   
tone practically knocking Nick flat. LaCroix's annoyance   
was palpable.   
  
Nick looked at the floor, his voice wavering with fear   
realizing that he didn't have much more time to clear   
himself before LaCroix pounced. Literally. "Yes..." God,   
what was he going to do? Nat was in danger now, and it   
really had been a platonic kiss... Or at least in context,   
but looking on it, it had felt _really_ good at the time.   
The guilt from his actions washed over his mind in a flood   
of emotion. He had hurt Nat by leading her on, and now he   
had endangered her life. He swallowed, barely noting the   
sudden dryness of his mouth.   
  
LaCroix slapped him across the cheek so hard it stung.   
"Don't lie to me, boy!"   
  
Nick's voice escaped in a quick puff of air as he held a  
hand to his burning cheek. His eyes drooped in shame, and   
although he tried to defend himself he knew he had lost   
already and began to prepare himself for a severe beating.   
"I'm not! It was..." he was cut off when LaCroix's fist   
slammed into his stomach. Hard. He gasped as the air was   
pushed out of his lungs and fell to the floor wheezing, his   
hands clutching his abdomen with a fierce grip as he   
spasmed.   
  
"Did we not have an agreement because of your sister? I've   
already tried to enforce this before, but you thought you   
could deceive me about your true feelings. It is obvious to   
me that you have been lying to me for the past year. The   
good Doctor's life is forfeit!" LaCroix looked with an   
uncaring glance down to Nicholas's gasping figure and then   
directed his eyes towards the skylight above forebodingly.   
He was going to leave.  
  
Nick stared up at his master from the floor, his wind still   
completely gone. Gasping frantically, his eyes widened in   
fear. Nat! "No!" he cried pathetically, although it was   
more a thought than an actual utterance. He dashed to his   
feet and grabbed on to LaCroix's shoulders as hard as he   
could, baring his fangs with a ferocity he couldn't have   
mustered under any other circumstances.   
  
LaCroix turned towards him, ignoring Nick's sudden outburst.   
"Stop this at once," he chided. "We had a deal. Fleur's   
mortality for that of your mortal lover, should you ever   
have one. And I must say it looks like you do," he said, a   
smirk invading his face as he saw Nick's rage.   
  
Nick snarled loudly, his fangs displayed menacingly.   
"You've already made my life a living Hell! Don't you think   
that's enough?" he screamed, shaking LaCroix with his hands.   
Nick could feel the hole he was digging becoming deeper, but   
he had to try. He had to save Nat!   
  
Suddenly, Nick felt himself up against the wall. He cried   
out as LaCroix pushed him forcefully into the hard surface,   
his rib cage crunching in his upper torso. Nick struggled   
to free himself from his master's vice-like grip but he   
couldn't. The more he struggled, the tighter LaCroix's grip   
on him became. More bones snapped. He screamed again, and   
inhuman howl of agony with his fangs bared fully.   
  
Nick's eyes opened wide when he felt LaCroix's hot breath on   
the back of his neck. "You're mine! Never disobey! I will   
finish our agreement..." LaCroix said possessively, his   
hands almost imperceptibly becoming tighter on Nick's   
shoulders as he said it. Nick could feel the anger slowly   
building in his master's voice, and he braced himself   
accordingly. But then, LaCroix let go.   
  
The shock of being released almost made Nick fall over, but   
he managed to steady himself. He took a breath, feeling the  
vampire surge forth at the sudden stab of pain in his chest.   
He looked at LaCroix through red-hazed vision. He wanted to  
kill him. To hurt him for hurting him... For trying to   
hurt Nat... "No! Not Natalie!" he screamed.  
  
Ignoring the pain, he lunged at LaCroix, who was watching   
his son's vampiric visage with an arrogant smirk. Nick knew   
that he was merely making LaCroix happier, embracing the   
vampire in a fit of rage. Not caring that it only served as   
amusement for the two thousand year old vampire, Nick bit   
his surprised master as hard as he could, but he was flung   
to the floor almost instantly. The crack that followed as   
Nick hit the floor echoed harshly, but it was bested by   
LaCroix's words of fury.   
  
"You little whelp! I'll teach you once and for all, you   
wretched, recalcitrant child!" LaCroix snapped in rage. The   
dam had broken. LaCroix's carefully checked fury burst   
forth and flooded the link between himself and Nick.   
  
Nick was still trying to recover from the shock of hitting   
the floor so hard when the anger hit him like a smack in the   
face. He was woozy, disoriented to the point that he could   
hear what LaCroix was saying, but he could make no sense of   
it. What was wrong with him? He raised himself up so that   
he was on all fours, swaying slightly, only to be slammed   
back onto the floor with such force that that breath was   
knocked out of him.   
  
God, his chest hurt! He let out a cry of pain as LaCroix   
held him there, unmercifully. Reaching backward with his   
left hand, trying to get leverage to throw LaCroix off him,   
he only received a blast of pain when LaCroix took it into a   
harsh grip and crushed it. He screamed again and felt   
LaCroix lay down on top of him with his full weight. He   
struggled with all his might, but he was weakened.   
Severely. With LaCroix's heavy body on top of his, he could   
barely wiggle two inches left and right. He gasped as the   
crushing weight on him brought more pain to his chest.   
  
"Are you trying to get away, Nicholas? Do you think you can  
get away?" his master taunted nastily. Nick squeezed his   
eyes shut against the pain as LaCroix laughed softly.   
"Foolish child..." The voice sounded to Nick's ears like an   
echoing thunder as his fear grew to palpable levels. I'm   
sorry, Nat. I'm sorry that I can't defend you... He cursed   
himself as he lay there, completely at LaCroix's mercy.  
  
LaCroix's weight was lifted from him only for a second until   
he felt the tearing pain of his master's fangs in his neck.   
He screamed animalistically as the agony of having his   
life's blood forcefully removed from his body coursed   
through every cell in his body. Dizzy with sensation, he   
felt himself go tense with pain as all his nerves seemed to   
fire at once.   
  
Nick opened his eyes, but he couldn't see anything except a   
red haze of pain. Images flooded through the bloodlink with   
his master and assaulted his brain. Two thousand years of   
events were packed into a second's worth of imagery, and the   
effect was devastating. Pain rocketed through his body like   
nothing he had ever felt before. Thousands dead by   
LaCroix's hand, all racing before his eyes. Nat! He was so   
buffeted by such pictures of death and destruction that he   
couldn't keep his mind on the one thing that would help him   
through this. Her beautiful, shining face was replaced by   
pale dead-looking faces with glassy eyes. All staring at   
him, pointing their fingers in cold accusation. LaCroix's   
victims.   
  
He shook as much as his position underneath LaCroix allowed.   
God. All those people dead... How many had he killed?   
Despite his current predicament, he couldn't help but think   
of it. LaCroix's life superimposed itself upon his as the   
images continued to bombard him. I killed so many... He   
screamed in guilt and pain as his own memories were confused   
with those of LaCroix.   
  
LaCroix sensed what he was feeling. "Ah, Nicholas, you feel  
that don't you? You're a monster, Nicholas..." he said in a   
low threatening whisper as he leaned close to Nick's ear.   
  
Through the din of millions of voices from memories long   
past, the voice of his master echoed through his ears and   
threatened to shatter his soul with its intensity, taunting   
him coldly. He trembled violently as his master forced his   
mind to replay the memories again. AGONY. No! I'm not a   
monster! I'm not like you!   
  
"Embrace it, Nicholas..." NONONONONONO! That's NOT me! He  
screamed again as the waves of pain flooded his system once   
more. But this time not from the imagery assault of the   
bloodlink. LaCroix was consciously pressing him harder into   
the floor, jerking him this way and that. Nick groaned but   
didn't resist, his body's energy already completely spent in   
the onslaught to his mind. I'm sorry, Nat. He trembled.   
  
Nick suddenly felt cold and realized his clothes were gone.   
Through the agony, he realized what LaCroix was intending to   
do and he felt his heart clench in his chest. Please no...   
Not that... LaCroix grabbed his hair and pulled his head   
back at an impossible angle. "Nicholas, now do you   
understand? I'm your master and you will _never_ escape   
me!"   
  
He felt a strange sensation in his rear, burning. It hurt!   
Nick growled out, helpless to defend himself from the   
blistering pain. LaCroix had let go of his hair was now   
grasping his shoulders tightly, his grip waxing and waning   
with his fierce thrusting. "Ah, Nicholas. Do you feel   
that? That's me. I can possess you totally..."  
  
Through the fog, all he could think of was how he let   
himself get stuck in such situations... It was his fault...   
He was too weak to fight back because he denied his nature,   
and LaCroix took advantage of it when it suited him. The   
pain was a dizzy merry-go-round of sensation, and Nick felt   
like he was going to be sick. He shuddered, his body trying   
to get him to respond to the signals it was sending.   
  
LaCroix wouldn't let him up, and he unceremoniously lost the   
cow blood he had so recently consumed. Choking as his nose   
and mouth were jammed into the sticky foul-smelling mess, he   
spasmed feverishly while LaCroix continued to thrust into   
him. His body screamed at the terrible mistreatment. God,   
he wanted it to end.   
  
"Do you feel that Nicholas? I OWN you!" No. No, please   
no. Nick tried to scream out for LaCroix to stop, but his   
vocal chords didn't seem to be working properly and all   
that came out was a strangled moan. I'm sorry, Nat.   
  
He felt as if he was tumbling off a cliff, over and over   
again. He was numb, and he could hardly feel LaCroix   
violating him anymore and yet it hurt more than spears of  
sunlight on his sensitive flesh. God, he just wanted to   
die. Anything to make it stop!   
  
Suddenly, from behind him, LaCroix roared in triumph and   
bit hard into Nick's neck. Nick screamed and screamed and  
screamed as he felt the wetness seep into him. Maybe it   
would stop now... But it didn't stop. LaCroix was at it   
again.   
  
Please stop. Oh, please stop! He was too weak to do   
anything but lie there while LaCroix continued his violent   
assault. The crunching of his bones and LaCroix's base   
grunting melded into one long wail of pain. Please stop...   
  
Retreating back into his consciousness, anything to take   
his mind away from what was happening to him, he realized   
that Natalie was next after LaCroix had finished with him.   
He vomited again, dry heaving that only wound up forcing   
his face into the wet coagulating pool of his previous   
stomach contents. Natalie was next and there was nothing   
he could do. Nothing.   
  
"Beg me, Nicholas. Beg me to stop!" Oh, God, anything to  
make it stop. Tears were streaming down his face as he   
lay there completely helpless, his body weak and his energy   
spent.   
  
"LaCroix... please... don't" he managed to mutter through   
the cottony haze. It was all a blur, and he shuddered and   
shook with shock as LaCroix slowed his painful assault.  
  
"What did you say?" LaCroix forcefully jammed his hands   
hard into the small of Nick's back, eliciting a strangled   
cry. He had heard perfectly well what Nick had said, and   
Nick knew it.   
  
"No... Please no..." he pleaded, his voice barely above   
a strangled whisper. And he felt awful for it. Natalie   
was going to die sooner because he was too cowardly to stay   
quiet and ride through the assault as he should have. His   
fault... His fault... He stared blankly at the floor in   
front of him, his vision long ago blinded by the red haze.   
  
All at once, it was over. LaCroix pulled out of him and   
Nick lay there shaking, gasping in short intervals. I'm   
sorry, Nat. I couldn't save you. Please forgive me...   
  
"Very well, Nicholas. I think you've learned your lesson,   
at least for the time being," LaCroix said as he got up off   
the floor. I'm sorry, Nat. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.   
Nick shook his head from side to side as he shakily reached   
out with his good hand and pulled himself across the floor,   
slowly. Towards the lift. Away from LaCroix. Got to get   
away...  
  
"If I ever see anything like this again, your Doctor friend   
will die..." What? He's not going to do anything? Oh God,   
thank you! "Say goodnight, Nicholas..." Thank you!   
Than...  
  
He screamed as a terrible fire ripped through his side and  
the blackness enveloped him.   
  
REVENIRE AD NUNC  
  
Nick woke up yelling in a fit of terror. He snarled harshly   
and tried to sit up, the bloodsweat dripping down his   
battered body and soiling the already blood-spattered   
blanket that was covering him. He regretted it. A lot.   
  
Dizziness swept through his pale, naked body as he lay back   
down, shaking so violently that it hurt. God, why did he   
hurt so much? Gasping, he felt his fangs descend and his   
eyes turn a harsh shade of crimson. He growled loudly.   
  
The hunger burned bright within him, and he screamed when   
his body wouldn't cooperate. He couldn't get up to assuage   
it and so began the endless loop of agony started by sitting   
up and shifting bones and muscles that shouldn't have been   
shifted.   
  
Suddenly, he stilled, the predator in him taking over.   
There was a warm thing approaching. It had a heartbeat.   
Its mesmerizing song of heavy thumps echoed through his ears   
and he couldn't help but lick his parched lips. But he   
couldn't move. He howled in rage at his predicament. There   
was food so close, and he couldn't get it!   
  
But then there was a prick in his arm and the pain   
overwhelming his body became louder than the hunger. "Nick?   
Talk to me, Nick. Nick?" The familiar feminine voice   
sounded far away, as if she was yelling across a street at   
him, and it barely cut through the haze. Finally, though,   
recognition shot its way through his aching head.  
  
He stared blankly through crimson eyes as he let out a   
small gasp. "Nat?" he said, as if someone had punched the  
word out of his mouth. His breathing grew rapid and he   
frenzied a bit as he struggled through the pain.  
  
"Nick, stop moving! You've been hurt... r... raped...   
You'll only make it worse if you keep moving..." Nat's   
worried voice rocketed through his ears and he immediately   
stopped moving except for the small forced gasps that he   
had no control over.   
  
The memories came back to him then. His horrible nightmare   
had been real. "N... Nat..." he let out, strangledly as he   
felt a warm hand on his bruised cheek. He blinked, trying   
to stamp out the angry red haze in his eyes that he knew had   
to be scaring her. He didn't think he'd ever told her that   
his eyes could turn red if he was in enough pain or angry  
enough.   
  
"Shhhhh. Nick, it's all right now," her words were meant   
to be soothing, but they did nothing of the sort. He felt   
her hand brushing his forehead and he looked at her, but   
could only see the heat outlining her form. He wanted to   
pull away from her hand, it was making him nervous for some   
reason. "It's all right..."   
  
No, it was _not_ all right! Not all right! His breathing  
accelerated even more, and his shattered ribs stabbed him   
with every inhale. He bit his lips with his fangs, drawing  
up small wells of blood. Calm down! You've got to... calm!   
"Wh... Why haven't... I ... healed?" he asked, panicked,   
the last string of his sentence coming out in a sob.   
  
Nat seemed to pause for a long while. "I'm not sure, Nick,"   
she said honestly. "You've lost a lot of blood and your   
body doesn't seem to be acclimating well to the new stuff   
I've transfused you with... Nick, you were completely bled  
out when I found you." Her voice was weeping with emotional  
strain and at once Nick felt responsible.   
  
He closed his eyes at the information. God, he hurt. He   
wished he had a truckload of curare ... Tears streamed down   
his face. He was cold. "Nat, I'm c... cold... Why am I   
cold?" There was a blanket on top of him... normally he   
didn't feel the effects of weather at all. He shivered and  
it brought a rocket of pain slamming through his torso.   
  
Nat only sobbed as she toyed with a stray lock of his hair.   
"Nick, why did he do this to you?" she whispered, her voice  
raw with emotion.  
  
Nick's teeth chattered, his fangs clicking as they hit his   
lower incisors. Why did LaCroix do this? Why why why?   
LaCroix's methods of punishment had never resulted in sexual   
assault. Never. Just severe beatings and mental torture.   
Because he's afraid of losing you, that's why. He saw that   
picture of me and Nat and he couldn't bear it. God knows   
I've repaid that damn debt he claims I have ten fold...  
  
"I... I don't know..." he lied weakly. He couldn't tell   
her it was because of the article. He just couldn't.   
Generally he was the chief executive of the guilt   
department, but he knew for sure that Nat would blame   
herself unjustly. This was his fault and his fault alone.   
Not hers.   
  
Nat looked at him with a wary gaze, but said nothing in   
response. She merely nodded in resignation. Nick felt   
terrible for lying to her, it felt so incredible wrong, even   
if it was for her own good... He cursed himself for letting   
LaCroix do what he did... There must've been something more   
he could have done.   
  
Wincing as his broken bones stabbed his innards, he   
continued to shiver harshly. He felt sick. Really sick.   
He heaved spasmodically, but nothing came up. Cold blood   
sweat marred his brow, and he felt his hair dampen and mat   
to his head. He felt dirty. Unclean.   
  
"Nick?" Nat questioned concernedly at Nick's look of   
disgust.   
  
Nick knew he looked terrible, and all at once he felt   
embarrassed. She had saved him when he had been helpless to  
save himself. And he had been raped. Raped. He felt like   
a worthless, helpless infant. Nat was the strong one, not   
him. Through his mental turmoil, he felt as if he were   
one of those tiny little boys standing under the stars.   
Their look of hope as they wished upon the very first bright  
speck in the black night sky was soon destroyed when they   
found that their wish had not been granted. Like that.   
He felt like he was reaching for something that he just   
couldn't quite touch, but he didn't know what it was.   
  
"I'm fine," he snapped, not knowing whether she had winced   
at his tone or not. He still couldn't see very well. Why   
couldn't he stop shivering? He grew angry and frustrated   
at himself, trying to come to grips with his current   
vulnerability. At least Nat wasn't harping about the fact   
that he had his fangs out... He couldn't really fix that   
at the moment anyway. He shifted uncomfortably. He felt   
dirty. Unclean. Violated.  
  
"Nick? Please, talk to me. Don't shut me out, I know this   
is very painful for you..." Nat's voice implored him, but   
he would have none of it.   
  
Nick narrowed his eyes and growled menacingly. "Leave me   
alone! I said I'm fine!" Damn LaCroix! He was probably   
laughing his ass off while he was lying here helpless as   
a lamb. He was so angry he was shaking... He growled   
again. Dirty. Unclean. Violated. Helpless. Damn LaCroix   
and damn himself! DAMN!  
  
"All... All right Nick..." and with that, the hand on his   
forehead was lifted and Nat retreated back upstairs from   
whence she came.   
  
He winced at the pain and rejection that emanated from Nat's   
voice. Damn! Why had he said that? Natalie, I'm so   
sorry... I'm so sorry for hurting you _again_. Sorry that   
I couldn't defend you. Sorry that I couldn't defend myself.   
Sorry that I couldn't have made the right choice eight   
hundred years ago and saved everyone a lot of grief.   
  
Sorry... He cried freely, his body racked with terrible,   
retching sobs. But this time it was not from physical pain.   
With the blood tears streaming down his face like tiny   
waterfalls, Nicholas de Brabant wept.   
  
*****   
  
He longingly touched the smooth glass of the skylight with a   
cool hand, his fingers leaving marks of moisture that   
evaporated as soon as he lifted his hand away and peered   
down. Nicholas was sleeping fitfully on the couch below,   
the scars of his disobedience still fresh and ugly on his   
ghostly pale skin. LaCroix frowned, but made no move to   
enter. He couldn't bring himself to break Nicholas's well   
earned privacy as he had so many times before.   
  
Even from this distance, he could see the streaming,   
telltale tear tracks that had traced their way down his   
son's cheeks. He felt his heart clench in his chest at the   
thought. True, he'd been driven to extreme measures to   
ensure Nicholas's continuing obedience in the past... but   
this time it was different. He'd never before felt such...   
regret. Regret...   
  
/He... he loved you./ Janette's pained words threatened to   
bring tears to his eyes again. Had she been truthful? It   
seemed so hard to believe and yet at the same time, he knew   
she wouldn't deceive him like that. Those were the words   
that he'd wanted to hear for eight hundred years. _Eight   
hundred years_ he'd waited and all he'd gotten was hate,   
loathing, and self-disgust from his errant protege. But...   
what if it had been a front? All a facade to maintain his   
damn sense of pride... Nicholas was just the type to do   
that, always trying to appear invincible, untouchable,   
unreachable. Just like me...   
  
/You've already made my life a living Hell! Don't you think   
that's enough?/ He shuddered as he remembered the hateful   
words his son had spoken to him. He supposed he deserved   
it.   
  
/He... he loved you./ LaCroix took several deep breaths to   
calm his raging soul. Hearing it now only made it hurt   
more. Because all was lost. There was no way to apologize   
for what he'd done, and even if there was it wasn't like   
he'd had a lot of practice... He was not the type to   
apologize. He'd been trained from a very young age that   
emotions and apologies were for the weak. No one would have   
respected his command had he not followed those teachings.   
  
He supposed that was another reason why Nicholas had   
attracted him so from the beginning. He was passionate,   
almost to the point of personal flaw. More passionate than   
anyone he'd ever known, always so incredibly expressive.   
And more kind and pure than most of the mortals he envied,   
even if he couldn't see it for himself.   
  
/LaCroix... please... don't/  
  
Shaking his head in regret, LaCroix sighed and brushed his   
hands over his red-rimmed eyes. He had come to apologize.   
But he couldn't. Not now. Not ever...   
  
/No... Please no.../  
  
He wouldn't. Never again... And with that he fled into the   
fleeting advance of night.  
  
*****  
  
Janette stared down at her sleeping sibling-turned-master   
with a terrible ache in her heart. The wounds on his face   
were just now disappearing, more than twelve hours later.   
LaCroix had really hurt him badly this time... And the fact   
that Nichola was still so insistent on drinking that awful   
bovine blood did not help matters at all.   
  
She touched a hand to his pale face and was startled when he   
flinched, even in his sleep. Frowning, she sat down on a   
nearby chair. He need not be woken... She would wait until   
he rose on his own. There was so much that they needed to   
talk about...   
  
Sighing, she leaned back into the black leather chair and   
closed her eyes in private meditation, but the relaxation   
she felt was soon broken. 'Thump-thump... thump-thump...'   
Janette sat up straight as a board when she heard the tell   
tale heartbeat. There was a mortal here... Probably his   
doctor friend.   
  
Janette flew deftly up to Nichola's bedroom and peered in.   
There, tangled amongst the black sheets was Natalie. Her   
face was haggard, and sleep did not appear to be serving   
its function. The brown-haired mortal was tossing back and   
forth, her face riddled with lines of worry.   
  
It was odd. Along with jealousy, Janette felt concern for   
this obviously troubled woman. When she'd been shot,   
Natalie had helped her despite her obvious dislike of her.   
And now she had helped Nick. Or at least, that was what   
could be concluded. Judging from what she had felt before,   
there was no way that Nichola could've healed this much   
without aid.  
  
Janette walked over to the sleeping mortal and placed her   
hands on the woman's cheeks. "Sleep, Natalie... It's all   
right. You can sleep soundly..." she said soothingly.   
Since the woman was a resistor, it was doubtful that it   
would help much but she had to try... Surprisingly, Natalie   
appeared to relax a little bit. Her muscles visibly   
loosened and she snuggled further into the soft covers.   
  
Satisfied that she had helped, even just a little bit, she   
returned to her chair to resume her vigil over Nichola. She   
watched him silently. He was so still... The sound of his   
soft, shallow breathing was the only indicator that he was,   
in fact, alive.   
  
Suddenly, he jerked in his sleep and began mumbling things   
in his native medieval French, no doubt deep in the throws   
of a harrowing nightmare. "Nichola..." she said quietly as   
she went to his side, placing a hand on his bare and bruised   
chest. His eyes flashed open, scarlet, glassy, and   
unseeing. He struggled to sit up, but she held him down.   
"Nichola! It is me!" she assured him.  
  
He growled and blinked. "Janette?" he asked weakly, almost   
as if he didn't believed what he'd heard. He blinked   
furiously, and Janette was worried for a moment that it was   
too bright until she realized his intent. After several   
seconds his eyes faded to their normal, beautiful blue.   
  
Janette sighed in relief. "Yes, Nichola..." she confirmed   
softly as she traced a finger down the side of his face.   
She immediately withdrew when he flinched and pulled away   
from her touch. "Nichola?" she asked, hesitantly.   
Something was wrong with him. Well, of _course_ something   
was wrong with him. He always pretended to bounce back from   
LaCroix's beatings, but this was different. And for once,   
she could really sympathize with him.   
  
He merely glared at her in contempt. "What are _you_ doing   
here?" he snapped harshly, as if he was actually angry for   
her appearance. If anything, it should have been the other   
way around. She was the only one here who had the right to   
be angry.  
  
The more she thought about it, the more Janette was taken   
aback. She had expected some guilt on his part from her   
arrival, but not this kind of reception. "I...," she began   
hesitantly, "I felt your pain. I had to come..." She   
purposefully remained vague. She didn't know what he would   
be comfortable discussing, and she figured that he would   
talk when he was ready. That's the way it had always been   
in the past.  
  
His eyes softened visibly, and his tensed muscles relaxed.   
"I'm sorry..." he began to apologize. So like him. He   
always tried to take responsibility for other people's pain,   
almost to the point of it being infuriating.  
  
Janette placed a finger to his lips to silence him. "You   
need not apologize. You had no control over what   
happened. It was LaCroix's fault, and he's terribly   
repentant if that means anything to you," she said firmly,   
but she could see the rage almost glowing in his eyes.   
  
"Well then why doesn't he come here and tell me that   
himself?" Nichola asked harshly, his tone cold and low.   
Bestial almost. It was rather disturbing, since Nichola   
did not normally let himself become so angry. He stewed,   
true. Even pent up his emotions until they exploded in a   
fit of rage sometime. But he was never really prone to   
sustained anger.   
  
Seeing that he was already getting riled up with just that   
small mention of his master's name, she chose to move onto   
other subjects. "Nichola, about... about this...," she   
said softly, sweeping her hand back and forth between them   
to indicate both him and her.   
  
He opened his mouth but he stopped himself before he began   
to speak, his voice catching in the back of his throat.   
"Nichola, I know this has been bothering you... I... I do   
not blame you for _before_..." she said, knowing that he   
would understand what she meant.  
  
Nichola looked at her with confusion marring his sky blue   
eyes. "I thought you didn't want me to bring you back   
across..." he said softly, as if wondering whether he had   
remembered the events that had been so ingrained in his   
head for the past few months incorrectly.   
  
Janette sighed. "Nichola, I was lying to myself as well as   
to you. I am a vampire. I have been a vampire for a long,   
_long_ time. That will never change, and I realize now   
that I was trying to be something I am just not cut out to   
be..."   
  
He nodded in response, although his gaze still showed that   
he was slightly confused. Janette sighed. It was so   
strange to have him as a master now, when for so long he   
had been her brother... And it was very odd to not be   
connected to LaCroix in any measurable amount. She'd been   
so used to having his controlling and confident presence,   
that when she'd been struck with Nichola's constant guilt   
and self-loathing it'd been very unsettling and very   
overwhelming. That was why she had gone away... To give   
herself time to adjust gradually.   
  
She was ripped from her musings when she noticed Nichola   
struggling to sit up. "Nichola, what are you doing?" He   
glanced at the clock on the table quickly as if confirming   
something, and then he looked at her seriously.  
  
"I'm going to work, Janette..."  
  
Janette looked at him as if he were crazy. He had to be   
kidding... "You cannot possibly be serious..." she said   
with a snort, barely suppressing a bout of laughter. But he   
was serious.   
  
She flinched inwardly when she saw his outrage at her joking   
statement. "What, do you think I'm helpless or something?!"   
he demanded as he stood up wobbly. She couldn't help but   
notice the wince that followed and the flush to his cheeks   
when he realized he was stark naked. It's not like she   
hadn't seen it all before, but he immediately grabbed the   
blanket that had been under him and wrapped it tightly   
around himself.   
  
He winced again at the sudden movement and without thinking,   
she moved to comfort him. He shrugged her off violently and   
she bit her lip in frustration when he took a step forward   
and stumbled. "Nichola..." she said, but she made no move   
to help him. It was obvious to her that he wanted to work   
this out by himself... It was so like him. Stubborn to the   
very end, and yet so vulnerable at the same time...  
  
"I'm FINE! Just leave me alone!" he screamed at her,   
gesturing with his hands only to grimace at the strain it   
put on his sore muscles. And with that he stumbled across   
the floor and slammed the door to his bathroom behind him.  
  
Janette sighed in frustration. Nicholas was so pigheaded!   
So stubborn! So Goddamned likable that she couldn't stay   
mad. Janette glanced at the door as she heard the shower   
start from within the mysterious depths, rolling her eyes at   
the ludicrousness of this situation. Hopefully his mortal   
friend would be able to knock some sense into him where she   
had failed.   
  
*****  
  
The water streamed down his face in warm soothing sheets,   
and he sighed in relief. Glancing down, he winced as he saw  
the reddish tint of the water flowing rapidly down the drain   
in a flurry of twisting tendrils. His muscles screamed in   
protest as he rubbed shampoo through his unruly mess of hair   
and he couldn't help but groan.  
  
Who was he kidding? He couldn't go to work... Yes I can!   
His pride was just unwilling to concede defeat. He was not   
some little helpless weakling. Yes you are... And his   
situation was all his fault anyway. If he had been able to   
defend himself properly, this wouldn't have happened... If   
he hadn't been so damn stubborn... If if if... It all came   
down to that. Things he could've done differently but   
hadn't.   
  
He grimaced. Burning. His chest was burning... He brought   
his hands down from his head and the pain stopped   
momentarily, only to be replaced by one in his gut. He was   
hungry... Grabbing his abdomen with his hands he willed it   
away, tears coming to his eyes at the effort.   
nonoNoNoNONONO! He wouldn't let his beast defeat him now.   
Not now, not ever! It was the one thing left that he felt   
he had the slightest semblance of control over and now even   
that seemed to be deteriorating.   
  
Letting out a pitiful sob, he hastily finished his shower   
and toweled himself off despite the fact that the steam   
holding the air in its tightfisted grip was making it a   
futile gesture. He leaned back against the door with the   
towel loosely wrapped around his waist, the shock of the   
cold wooden door bringing him slightly back to his senses.   
  
On impulse, he approached the mirror and wiped away the   
condensation that had formed on the smooth glass. What   
stared back at him made his blood run cold. He looked awful.   
There were angry dark splotches marring his chest and torso,   
and a long jagged red line where his rib cage met the flat   
pale skin of his belly. It was where LaCroix had stabbed   
him...   
  
He fingered the remnants of the wound and moaned slightly   
at the pain the tender area brought with touch. All at once   
he felt incredibly ill, but he forced the feeling down as he   
had the hunger so that it was only a passive observer to   
conscious thought.   
  
His face was pale and haggard, although not nearly as   
damaged as the rest of him. The only visible trace of his   
bout with LaCroix was a small gash on the side of his face,   
already closed and healing. Casually brushing his dripping   
hair away from his eyes, he sighed as new fog replaced the   
moisture that he had swept away with his hand. His face   
disappeared into the mist of pale white, lost amongst the   
droplets of water on the sheet of glass.   
  
That was how he felt. Lost. Of all the things he had   
thought he felt before, he hadn't realized this one... A   
small red tear came to his eye, but he brushed it away in   
denial. No. I'm not lost, I'm my own person. I know   
exactly what I am, and where I'm going... But it felt like   
a lie. It _was_ a lie. All of it.   
  
The hunger flared up in his stomach once again and he   
couldn't stop it. He would have to feed... Groaning, he   
opened the door of the bathroom and gingerly stepped out.   
Right into the all-penetrating gaze of Natalie.   
  
"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her arms   
crossed over her chest in a stance of authority.  
  
Nick grabbed the towel at his waist tightly, his knuckles   
turning a milky white from the pressure as he closed his   
eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm going to work, Nat," he   
said flatly, dangerously, and yet at the same time he felt   
so weak he was growing dizzy.   
  
She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Her stare   
would've knocked any normal person flat, but it affected him   
only slightly. His eyes narrowed in anger and he felt the   
beast within him slam up in his chest, but he held it back   
with all his might. She was trying to control him... Just   
like LaCroix.   
  
The pain in his gut was equaled by one in his heart. Why?   
Why couldn't they just let him decide for himself? He   
suppressed an angry growl and when she made no move to step   
aside he shoved past her, fleeing across the floor. He   
ignored the pain that the movement brought, because it was   
either that or submit to the hunger and take her where she   
stood, the latter of which was unthinkable no matter how   
angry he was.   
  
When he got to the fridge, he nearly ripped the hinges off   
in an act of complete desperation. The smooth, red liquid   
was burning down his throat before he even realized that he   
had opened a fresh bottle. He gagged slightly at the bitter   
bovine flavor, but he downed the whole bottle anyway.   
  
Images assaulted him, dull and lazy fields of grass eclipsed   
by the sun's hostile brilliance. Nick gasped and set the   
bottle down on the smooth counter, leaning down with his   
head resting on his outstretched arms. He let out a pained   
sob as he processed what he'd just seen. Images from cattle   
blood were so incredibly rare that they utterly shocked him   
on the infrequent occasions that they did occur.   
  
The sun. He'd seen the sun, known what its warmth felt like   
on his unblemished skin, known the touch of it on his heart.   
And all at once, it was gone into the black of night as if   
it had never been. He sighed lightly, his innards starting   
to shudder. His stomach suddenly felt like he'd just   
swallowed a brick, and the sickening feeling that was rising   
in his throat committed him to swallowing forcefully just to   
keep everything down.   
  
"Nick? Please talk to me..." Nat said softly from behind   
him as she placed a warm hand on his naked shoulder. He   
flinched away from her unexpected touch and he felt himself   
start to shake, still leaning heavily on the counter.   
  
"Nat, please. Please, I _need_ to go to work..." he pleaded   
but didn't look up, his voice coming out in pained gasps as   
he forced himself not to fall apart. He needed to feel   
important, like he was making a difference. Like he wasn't   
a victim. Even despite the overwhelming nausea that he was   
experiencing. Despite the fact that he could barely stand.   
He needed to go... His eyes closed, he prayed that she   
would understand...   
  
"All right, Nick. If that's what you think you need to do,"   
Nat said hesitantly, the authority of her voice gone and   
replaced by a certain compassion that he had grown to   
recognize. Maybe she realized how he felt... "But if you   
feel ill, or more hurt than you can cover for, you should   
book off..." she cautioned, the doctor in her still not   
giving in even if her heart had.   
  
Nick sighed in relief as he pushed himself off the counter   
and turned around to face her. It would be so much easier   
with at least one person on his side... "Thank..." he   
choked on a gasp as the nausea came racing back, but he   
forced it down with a few deep breaths. "Thanks," he said   
simply, but he meant it to say so much more...  
  
Nat smiled and took him into a warm embrace, which he   
accepted readily, practically melting into her caring arms.   
"It's all right, Nick. You'll be all right..." she assured   
him.  
  
Nick nodded grimly. But he wasn't sure he was ready to   
believe that just yet.   
  
*****  
  
Nick stepped out of Caddy all too gingerly and approached   
the door to the precinct, groaning slightly at the ache in   
his body. The cool air around him was enough to keep him   
well awake, but that also had the awful side effect of   
making him more aware of his own discomfort. He sighed   
lightly, his breath forming a small visible cloud of   
moisture that lazily swept into the air and disappeared.   
The doubts he was having before struck him again, and he   
wondered how on Earth he expected himself to make it through   
the night if he already felt this exhausted now. Placing a   
cool hand on the door, he hesitated only briefly before he   
stepped inside.  
  
"Wow, Nick! Nice of you to join us. Gee, you don't look   
all that great..." Tracy's voice assailed him the minute he   
walked in the door, starting at an annoyingly fast pace that   
eventually slowed down as she took note of his condition.   
He tiredly watched in grim acceptance of his fate as her   
eyes trailed from his head to his feet in horror. "I take   
that back, you look... awful! Did you get in a fight or   
something? You're so pale..."  
  
"I'm fine, Trace," he snapped. He didn't need to have yet   
_another_ person commenting on his obvious lack of good   
health...  
  
Tracy just swallowed at his harsh tone and went silent, a   
stricken look marring her usually pristine face that made   
Nick feel guilty almost instantly. "I'm sorry Tracy, I just   
had a rough night, er, day..." he said apologetically, "You   
know, with the shopping mall shooting case..."   
  
Her blue eyes widened slightly as she nodded silently,   
accepting his explanation at face value almost immediately.   
"It's ok, Nick... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry..." she   
started to apologize for her own innocent questions, but   
he cut her off again.  
  
"Don't worry about it, Trace," he said curtly as he raised a   
pale hand to silence her. He saw her jump back slightly,   
unused to his being so incredibly harsh and snappy with her,   
and again he felt slightly guilty. "Why don't we just get   
to the case report, ok? I'd like to close this one for good   
if we can," he said in a softer, more friendly tone, rubbing   
his forehead with his hand. He was already developing a   
headache, and the nausea from before was only a step away.   
Sitting down heavily at his desk after draping his coat over   
the back of his chair, he desperately attempted to ignore it   
and pulled up the case files on his computer.   
  
She sat down at her desk across from him in compliance, but   
she didn't even have a chance to pick up her pen before   
Captain Reese came storming out of his office. "Knight!   
Vetter!" The sudden intrusion sent shooting pains through   
Nick's head and he bit down on his tongue hard to keep from   
growling. Why did everything have to be so damn loud?  
  
"What?!" he snapped as Tracy sprang to her feet to meet   
Reese. She looked at him in slight amazement. No one was   
stupid enough to snap at their superiors... Not unless they   
wanted to pull traffic duty for a shift or three.  
  
Reese approached them with eyebrows raised, his tirade   
stopped before it started by Nick's unexpected flouting of   
authority. "There's been a murder reported, I need you to   
go check it out," he said quickly, handing them the case   
particulars in a manila folder. "Nick? Are you all..."  
  
"I'm FINE!" Nick almost clapped his hands over his mouth as   
he blurted out his answer before the Captain had even   
finished his question. How could he have been so completely   
insubordinate? He ground his molars together in frustration   
as he struggled for some equilibrium. Why was he so angry?   
  
Reese looked at him strangely, but didn't press it as Nick   
snatched up the folder and grabbed his coat from over the   
back of his chair. Nick stormed out before he could do   
anything else that he regretted, wincing when he heard Reese   
telling Tracy to keep an eye on him... When he got to his   
Caddy, he sank against the door with his head in his hands.   
He shouldn't have come to work today. Biting nausea welled   
up in his throat and swallowed hard to keep from losing his   
breakfast.   
  
"... Nick?" Oh God... Not Tracy... He felt his eyes   
flicker golden briefly before he got control of the vampire.  
  
He couldn't stop his head from swimming long enough to   
respond. "Nick, you're really ill... maybe you should book   
off..." Tracy's concerned voice echoed through his head,   
originating from somewhere in front of him. He felt dizzy,   
and the ground seemed to be getting closer to his face until   
a warm hand caught his shoulder and stopped his descent.   
  
"No! I'm all right, just give... give me a second..." he   
managed to say before he had to bite back on his tongue.   
Tracy patiently waited while he gained his balance back and   
looked up at her. "It's all right. I'm ok now..." The   
scary thing was that Nick felt like he was trying to   
convince himself more than her.   
  
She looked at him very strangely. "Nick... I had to hold   
you up to keep you from diving nose first into the pavement,   
and you're telling me you're fine?" she asked incredulously.   
  
The look he gave her was enough to silence her protests.   
"Fine. Fine, if you want to work like this that's your   
decision, but I'm driving whether you like it or not, and if   
we get in a shootout and you die because you were too dizzy   
to dodge, I'll be laughing at your grave..." she said   
sarcastically. He nodded and gave her the keys, amazed that   
he had given up his sacred driving rights so incredibly   
easily. He was really sick...   
  
You really should go home you know. Tracy's right. No!   
The war going on in his head was silenced as he got into the   
Caddy on the passenger side and Tracy started up the engine.   
Toronto was passing quickly by the windows before he knew it  
and he had almost succeeded in getting lost in thought once   
again when Tracy interrupted his wandering mind.  
  
"Say, Nick. I feel in a strangely dismal mood tonight, how   
about we listen to that Nightcrawler show you like so   
much..." she joked, her hand reaching for the dials on his   
radio.   
  
Nick felt his heart clench in his chest and his whole body   
went cold. He felt his hand slap hers away from the knob   
before he could stop himself. "NO!" he belted out, loud   
enough to startle Tracy to the point of almost swerving the   
car out of its present lane.   
  
Silence ensued. Deafening silence. He buried his face in   
his hands and felt bloody tears welling up to the surface as   
he began to shake. Vaguely through the tremors racing about   
his body, he felt the vibrations of the Caddy cease as Tracy   
pulled over.  
  
"Nick, I'm sorry... Please, what's the matter?" Tracy asked   
him softly. He didn't answer, and didn't look up. He   
certainly didn't dare look up. She'd know him for what he   
really was the minute she saw the trails of blood streaming   
down from his eyes.   
  
"Nothing... I'm fine..." he managed to say weakly as he   
wiped his eyes on the black sleeves of his shirt. At least   
nothing would show...  
  
"Nick, this is ridiculous. Something's wrong and I'm not   
going anywhere unless you spill it. Now," she demanded and   
he was surprised by the sureness of her tone. She'd never   
asserted herself very much in the past, and this... well it   
was pretty shocking.   
  
He glanced at her fingers tapping steadily on the steering   
wheel and he knew he'd have to come up with something or   
they'd be sitting there all night. "Tracy, look. I have a   
cold and I didn't get much sleep..." he hedged, but her   
doubting glare told him she didn't buy it.   
  
"Nick... you've suffered from sleep deprivation before and   
it hasn't had you collapsing in my arms or almost having   
a nervous breakdown when I randomly suggest we listen to   
your favorite radio show..." she responded acerbically. It   
was obvious she wasn't in the mood to deal with his   
constant avoidance of any personal talk.   
  
He was about to make up another lame excuse when Tracy made   
one for him. "It's Nat, isn't it." It was more of a   
statement than a question. "You had a fight with her I'll   
bet..." Tracy commented as if she was omniscient. When he   
didn't respond right away, she nodded to herself in private   
satisfaction and started the car back up. "I knew it!" she   
cried. "Don't worry, Nick. Things will work out, you two   
were meant for each other..." she trailed off as she began   
to focus again on her driving, pulling quickly off from the   
side of the road and speeding through the dark streets.   
  
Nick sighed in relief. Disaster had been avoided, at least   
for now. He sighed as they approached the scene. Police   
lights were everywhere, and the forensics crews were already   
milling about. He got out of the Caddy only slightly   
unsteadily and approached the scene with Tracy. Slightly   
alarmed he glanced around frantically, but relaxed when he   
didn't see Nat anywhere. This wasn't her district, but it   
would've been just his luck if she'd been assigned to this   
case anyway. If she saw him like this, she'd send him home   
without a doubt, and he just didn't need that right now.  
  
Nick motioned to Tracy to go have a word with the M.E. while   
he went to speak with the officer who was supervising   
everything. He walked up to the only man in uniform that he   
could see in the vicinity. "Excuse me, who's currently in   
charge here?" he asked as he approached the man, his voice   
tired and weak.  
  
"Detective Knight? Wow, I haven't seen you in a long while,   
how are things?" the man responded cheerfully with a smile   
so wide it threatened to split his face in half, the look of   
recognition in his eyes very prominent.  
  
Nick grimaced when he realized that he should know this   
person. He looked at the slight brown haired man who had  
addressed him and sifted through his memory for a name...   
He recognized from his days with Stonetree, but it took him   
longer to remember specifically who it was. "Officer   
Durham, I'm fine, how are you?" he said intending to be   
conversational, although his tone was cutting even to his   
own ears.  
  
Durham looked slightly startled at the harshness of the   
address and he unconsciously stepped back a bit, his smile   
fading under Nick's steady gaze. "I'm... fine. Um," he   
stuttered and then continued, "Are you one of the detectives   
assigned to this case?"  
  
Upon Nick's nod, Durham lead him to a tall imposing man with   
shoulder-length brown hair, his eyes so bloodshot they   
appeared as if the whites were actually pink. "This is Mr.   
McKenzie. He said he wouldn't speak until the person in   
charge got here..." Durham explained quickly. He began   
nervously fidgeting, looking at Nick oddly until Nick just   
gave up and let him leave.   
  
Nick watched Durham retreat and sighed. He'd forgotten how   
intimidating he could be to some people. Although he hadn't   
meant to snap at Durham so much, there wasn't much he could   
do about it now, so he turned to the large man standing   
there quietly.  
  
"Mr. McKenzie? I'm Detective Knight, I'm in charge of this   
investigation. Is there something you wanted to tell me?"   
he questioned calmly, trying ever so hard not to wince as   
his headache came roaring back to life.  
  
The man nodded and then burst out sobbing. "Sir?" Nick   
began to assume that this man had been a witness. Witnesses   
were usually the hysterical ones... Now, you know that's   
not fair. They've been through a trauma... He was startled   
out of his self-critiquing session when the man responded.   
  
"I did it," the man whispered. "God, I'm so sorry..."   
His voice was riddled with pain and guilt, a tone that Nick   
often reserved for himself...  
  
"Pardon?" he asked as several forensics crews bustled past,   
not quite positive that this man was really saying what   
Nick thought he was saying.   
  
"I did it," the man repeated. "Please, arrest me. I   
deserve it. I... I got carried away, I was angry... I   
didn't mean it... Oh, GOD! I didn't mean it..." he moaned,   
looking at Nick although not quite looking. Nick felt   
relieved that this person was confessing, it meant there   
wouldn't be a very long investigation unless for some   
reason the man was lying.  
  
At that moment Tracy came over. Nick glanced sidelong at   
her as she situated herself beside him. "Sir, can you   
excuse us for a minute?" Tracy asked politely. Mr.   
McKenzie nodded slightly in-between sobs, and Nick couldn't   
help but feel sorry for the man. He knew what it was like   
to get carried away all to well. Much too well...   
  
"Nick, what's the story here?" she whispered once they'd   
gotten a fair distance away from McKenzie. Nick wondered   
suddenly if he should've sent Durham over to keep an eye on   
him, but when he looked over, the man was just standing   
there now, looking forlorn and lost. It didn't look like he   
was up to anything. He was just a guilty man who wanted to   
come clean.  
  
"Well Tracy, I think this case is going to be a short one,   
the man just confessed I think, although we'll still have   
to get a formal statement," he said absently. "Why, what   
do you have?"   
  
"Nick, what we have here is a dead woman, Elise Brown, age   
26, student at the University of Toronto, brutally raped and   
murdered," Tracy said seriously. Nick swallowed hard and he   
felt his hands clam up. Raped. He looked over discretely   
to Mr. McKenzie, just standing there staring at the ground.   
LaCroix's face flashed before his eyes briefly, but he shut   
it out.  
  
/I got carried away, I was angry.../ Nick shook his head.   
"Are you sure?" he asked, his mouth beginning to feel like   
it was full of cotton. /Do you feel that, Nicholas? I OWN   
you!/ He shuddered, forcing himself to focus on what was   
going on around him.   
  
Tracy nodded. "She was carrying her I.D. and the M.E.   
confirmed that there's obvious signs of sexual assault,"   
Tracy said as she glanced over at the gurney being wheeled   
away, the unmistakable form of a black body bag on it.   
  
/I'm so sorry.../ The nausea was back, coming in like a   
riptide. /I got carried away, I was angry.../   
  
/LaCroix... please... don't./ Nick brought his hand to his   
mouth as the world began to spin around him. "Nick?"   
  
/Are you trying to get away? You think you can get away?/   
LaCroix's voice screamed though his head and Nick felt a   
crushing panic develop on top of his nausea.  
  
Nick did the only thing he could think of to do before his   
secret and his dignity were destroyed. He fled.  
  
*****  
  
LaCroix sipped hesitantly from the champagne flute, unsure   
as to what to expect from this particular vintage, but he   
was pleasantly surprised. He leaned his head back with his   
eyes closed in appreciation as the thick red liquid seeped   
onto his tongue and down his throat. The tingling sensation   
almost made him dizzy as images from the donor's life   
assaulted his mind with pleasure. Now _this_, this was   
good bloodwine... He would have to be sure to order more of   
it for his inventory.  
  
"Shall I get you another bottle, sir?" Marcel asked absently   
as he cleaned the cool shiny surface of the bar with a clean   
rag. He and LaCroix were the only two in the large room   
that made up the main part of the Raven, as it was closed   
for the night, but still way too early for the vampire   
strays to be coming in to bed down.  
  
LaCroix shook his head, his eyes still closed. He'd had   
enough to satisfy him for awhile, and it was always best to   
save the good stuff like this for special occasions.   
Licking his lips, he set the glass back down on the bar for   
Marcel to pick up when he was through with the counter.   
  
"May I try this? I've not seen this vintage before..."   
Janette asked softly, suddenly appearing beside Lucien in a   
gust of cool air.   
  
LaCroix had to stop himself from jumping. It was so odd   
not being able to acutely sense Janette's presence anymore.   
When he let his guard down, just about any vampire as old as   
Janette would be able to approach undetected. "Certainly,   
my dear," he commented flatly, desperately trying to hide   
how startled he'd been. No one startled him... At least,   
no one ever knew if they did...  
  
Janette picked up the flute and drank down the tiny amount   
that was still clinging to the bottom of it as she sat down   
on a barstool beside him. "Mmmmm," was all she could say as   
the excellence of the wine swept up her senses and shook   
them until she was dizzied. Almost regretfully, she set the   
glass back down on the table as she regained her composure.   
  
"This is exquisite!" she said, her eyebrows raised in   
surprise.   
  
"Yes, I agree. I intend to order more of it," LaCroix said   
conversationally, purposefully remaining neutral. She   
looked at him intently with her ice-blue eyes, but said   
nothing for many moments.  
  
When the silence had grown to an almost uncomfortable level,   
Janette finally took the plunge. "He went to work this   
evening. I told him that he was being foolish, but he   
wouldn't listen to me..." she said hesitantly, her tone   
betraying the cautiousness she always had when dealing with   
matters regarding the age-old conflict between LaCroix and   
Nick.   
  
LaCroix bowed his head, looking at the floor. It was his   
fault that Nicholas had been injured to such an extent that   
going to work would be foolish... "He must know that he'll   
never heal without my help..." he whispered, denying the   
tears threatening to fall. He wanted so badly to go and   
offer his cherished son his ancient blood, and yet when   
he'd tried he hadn't been able to find the nerve to enter   
his son's loft.   
  
Janette looked at him hard. "Why? He wasn't staked...   
That's the only wound a vampire cannot heal without the   
blood of his master to aid him..."  
  
"I drained him, Janette. Completely. His body will take   
weeks to fully recover without my help," he whispered, his   
voice betraying his pain. What he wouldn't give to take   
back his actions the night before...  
  
"LaCroix... you need to go to him! You should know that he   
will be too stubborn to come to you..."  
  
"I cannot!" LaCroix stood up abruptly, his barstool   
tottering precariously for a moment before settling down as   
he turned his back to her in a gesture of closure. He   
didn't need to discuss this with her...  
  
But she didn't retreat as she usually did, and he felt her   
cold hand grasping his shoulder. "Yes, you can. All he   
wants to hear is an apology. That's all he's ever wanted, I   
suppose. You forget that while he is stubborn, he is also   
forgiving..." she whispered reassuringly into his ear as she   
leaned her head over his shoulder.  
  
He turned to her his eyes blazing. How dare she? He   
restrained himself from snarling at her viciously. His   
temper was what had gotten him in this mess, he didn't need   
to dig his hole deeper. "Janette, this is not about his   
forgiveness!" he snapped coldly, his eyes daring her to just   
try and speak.  
  
Surprisingly, it didn't work. "Isn't it!?" she demanded   
harshly, her eyes alight with a passionate fire.   
  
LaCroix stared at her, aghast. How dare she!? How _dare_   
she!? It was simple... He wasn't her master any longer,   
and he simply didn't exude the same level of control. But   
even still, he'd never known anyone so much younger than him   
to defy him so boldly. It was disconcerting to say the   
least, and he found himself raising a hand to slap her   
before he froze, his mouth agape and his outstretched hand   
poised to strike.  
  
Janette merely stared at him coldly. "Go ahead and hit me!   
It won't solve anything, but at least you'll still be your   
same invincible, domineering self! Oh yes, that'll demand   
real respect," she said caustically, her voice low and   
strangely crystal clear.  
  
"I..." he couldn't find the words. He was lost in a torrent   
of warring emotions.   
  
"Admit it, LaCroix! The reason why this is bothering you   
so much is that _you_ have to demand _Nichola's_   
forgiveness, and it's killing you! Admit it! That's all   
this was ever about..." she yelled at him, her blue eyes   
blazing like sunlight reflected off the surface of a placid   
lake.  
  
He sank to the floor against the bar, his knees suddenly   
giving out. He didn't care anymore. Didn't care if anyone   
saw him as weak. Didn't care about anything. Except...   
"No Janette, this isn't about Nicholas forgiving me,   
although I'm sure that has something to do with it," he   
said, his voice exhausted and strained. "It's about...   
forgiving myself," he whispered, almost to faint for his   
own ears to hear, let alone Janette's...  
  
Janette sat down next to him quietly, saying nothing as   
she wrapped her arms around him to comfort him. And then...   
then he started to sob. It was what he had warned Nicholas   
against day in and day out. Guilt. He'd hurt the one   
person in the world that he loved most. Terribly hurt him.   
And he felt guilty.  
  
Another sob wracked his body and he felt as if he was going   
to burst. "LaCroix, go to him..." Janette pleaded in his   
ear.  
  
He buried his head in his arms. "I... I can't, Janette..."   
And then he was struck with a terrible pain. Nausea flooded   
his system, and he absently noticed Janette clutching her   
temples with an ill look on her face.   
  
Nicholas... Janette, surprisingly, was the first one to   
regain her composure. "Go to him, LaCroix! He needs   
you..." She gently shoved him a bit, prodding him to go.   
  
His resistance broke like a dam under pressure. And   
somehow, he found himself standing up.  
  
"Go!"  
  
And he went.   
  
*****  
  
LaCroix flew blindly, recklessly through the ending night   
and into his son's loft. Nicholas wasn't in his loft, but   
he would be soon. The sun would rise soon, and Nicholas did   
not have nearly as much tolerance for sunlight as he did,   
especially now.  
  
He looked around, eyes wide as the steel shutters engaged   
and slid down into place, preparing to greet the coming day.   
It was the first time he'd been back in the loft since he'd   
lost his temper. Even though it was only the night before,   
it felt like an eternity.   
  
He went quietly to the sofa where Nicholas had lain in the   
evening, wincing when he saw the slightly discolored spots   
that could only be Nicholas's blood. Absently, he ran his   
hand over the smooth leather, his fingers lingering briefly   
on the faint bloodstains and at once he shivered. The loft   
was so cold... So very lonely...   
  
He stilled when he heard the lift engage, his cold hands   
gripping the black leather couch so hard that they   
threatened to tear a hole in the expensive upholstery.   
Nicholas... The lift stopped. LaCroix subconsciously held   
his breath in anticipation of what was sure to be a   
difficult encounter, but no one came out. Silence. He   
cocked his head to the side and with his enhanced senses he   
could hear something moving slightly in the lift, but still   
the door did not slide open. He instantly grew worried.   
Something was really wrong...  
  
Flying faster than the eye could see, he was at the door and  
yanking it open with all of his might. "Nicholas!" His son   
was leaning heavily on the wall of the lift shaking with his   
head bowed to the raging nausea. Glancing downward, LaCroix   
saw that Nicholas was standing in a deep red coagulating   
pool of blood. He painfully realized that it was his   
vomit...   
  
Without so much as another thought, LaCroix took his son   
into his arms. "LaCroix..." came a weak reply, and it   
pained him to feel Nicholas flinching away from his touch,   
squirming ever so weakly to free himself from his grasp.  
  
"Nicholas, please, let me help you..." LaCroix pleaded   
softly, yet not relaxing his tight grip. His son would flee   
if he let go, that he was sure of.  
  
Nicholas was simply too weak to fight, and he collapsed   
sobbing into LaCroix's arms as if he was giving up,   
accepting his fate, whatever LaCroix determined that to be.  
  
LaCroix dragged Nicholas out into the loft, ignoring   
the rusty trails of blood that their feet were leaving. He   
collapsed onto the floor under Nicholas's limp body and   
rocked his weeping son back and forth.   
  
"P... Please don't hurt me anymore..." Nicholas whispered   
with a terrible edge of fear in his voice, shaking and   
trembling uncontrollably in LaCroix's grasp. It broke his   
heart to hear his son pleading with him. What... What had   
he done? Had he finally broken Nicholas's spirit? He   
realized that Nicholas was mortally afraid of him. So much   
so that he was quaking. Although it should've been a   
triumph, it only made LaCroix feel sick to his stomach.   
Guilty. You're guilty, Lucien. GUILTY!!!  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," he said as he hugged   
his errant crusader to his chest fiercely. Even Nicholas,   
of all people, realized the value of LaCroix's promises.   
They were always kept. Always.   
  
Guilty, Lucien. You're guilty... He forcefully pried   
Nicholas's head away from where it was buried in his   
shoulder and held him in a strong headlock, raising his   
free wrist towards his son's mouth. "Drink, Nicholas..." he   
commanded, "It will heal you..."   
  
But Nicholas didn't open his mouth. He was breathing hard,   
panting almost, and LaCroix felt a weak attempt against him   
from Nicholas to free himself. His son's feeble hands were   
pushing lightly against his chest, but LaCroix could tell   
from his son's trembling muscles that the attempt was all   
Nicholas could muster. He was so weak... Like a breakable   
plaything.   
  
"Please, Nicholas! I'm... sorry. For everything. Please,   
believe me. Drink my blood. Heal. Know what I cannot say   
with words!" he pleaded, his voice soft and low, filled with   
a certain pain that he'd never let show before. Not to   
Janette, not to Nicholas... Not to anyone.   
  
Nicholas's pale lips parted, his glistening fangs revealed,   
but he still made no move to drink.   
  
"Please, please, believe me..." He'd never pleaded with   
Nicholas for anything in his life before. It felt odd,   
and yet, it felt so right. Like penance for all the pain   
he'd caused his golden child.  
  
The pain in his wrist was a welcome relief and he let out   
a cry of thanks as his son began to drink his life's blood.   
All that he was would be his son's. For the first time, he   
would not conceal a thing. Maybe then Nicholas would   
finally understand...  
  
It was weak at first, but LaCroix felt Nick suckling with a  
growing fervor. Nicholas's hands slowly moved to grip his   
wrist to achieve a better angle, and LaCroix leaned his head   
back in pleasure, growling as he felt his own fangs descend   
uncontrollably in response. He hadn't shared blood with   
Nicholas consensually in so long that he'd almost forgotten   
the sweetness that accompanied willingness. Even though he   
was not tasting Nicholas's blood for himself, it was still   
a two way sensation.   
  
LaCroix rolled his head back as fleeting sensations hit him   
in an erotic swirl of emotions. Light flashed before his   
eyes and he felt images coming through the back-link. All   
of Nicholas's feelings in a bombardment of imagery, this   
time freely given. At first his guilt, and pain, and   
anguish. But then a plea to make peace... A plea to   
understand his quest for mortality, and that it was not a   
slight against LaCroix himself.  
  
Please, father. Understand me for what I am, please! I   
know I'm not what you want me to be... I know... But I   
just can't make myself in your image.  
  
Nicholas...   
  
/Please don't hurt me anymore.../  
  
Nicholas, never. Never again.   
  
He clutched Nicholas in his embrace tightly, fiercely, so   
hard it was a good thing that his son didn't need to   
breathe... It was as if there was a world and the world   
was only them. The two of them, standing interlocked in a   
deep chasm of empty space. Coming and going, but never   
staying. He rocked back and forth on the sweeping tidal   
waves of the bloodlink until it slowly began to fade.   
With the last breaths of untold intimacy fleeting away on   
an invisible breeze of color, he sighed and felt intense   
regret overcome him as the visions faded to black. He let   
go as Nicholas pulled his fangs out of his wrist. The   
intimate link was lost.   
  
Nicholas was silent as stone, unmoving and cold, his eyes   
shut against the dim light of the loft. Against _him_.   
LaCroix looked at the floor, a pained feeling entering his   
chest, and he felt his heart breaking. Even after all that   
had been passed between them, it was obvious to him that his   
son didn't want him around...  
  
And this time, he would heed that wish. He would finally   
let go.   
  
He got up slowly to his feet, swaying slightly when the   
weakness of blood loss set in. Nicholas had taken much of   
his blood... He would have to get some of the good uncut   
stuff when he got back to the Raven. Maybe Janette would   
have some ready for him... but no... she wouldn't be   
able to sense his distress anymore.   
  
And then he realized that the sun was up. He couldn't   
leave even if he wanted to... Well... there were other   
floors to this building...  
  
"Don't leave me, LaCroix..." Nicholas whispered softly.   
  
He stopped cold. What? "Nicholas?" he asked, scarcely   
able to find his voice.   
  
"Don't leave..."   
  
LaCroix felt his heart shatter. /Don't leave.../ His son   
had actually asked him to stay. /Don't leave.../ "I won't,   
Nicholas," he said smoothly, though his emotions were   
anything but.  
  
He would stay. And he would talk. And perhaps their broken   
relationship of eight hundred years would finally be healed.   
  
FINIS INITII  



End file.
